Of a Hobbit and an Elven King
by phantom-lass
Summary: What if Bilbo knew Thranduil and Legolas before the quest? Bilbo finds a sick Legolas and cares for him until his father arrives. Answer to a prompt from the Hobbit Kink Meme. Fem!Bilbo.
1. Chapter 1

**I do not own anything :(**

* * *

At the age of forty-nine Bilbo Baggins was a well-established spinster, who, by all accounts (well, it depended what spiteful family member you asked) had been one since the day she had been born. But the truth was that she was just different. She was always too much of …something. You see Bilbo Baggins was the only child of one of the daughters of the old Took and her husband (a very respectable gentle Hobbit) by the name of Bungo Baggins. She was too Tookish for the Baggins' and too much of a Baggins for the Tooks and as such she was far too unpredictable for any decent Hobbit to be expected to settle down with her.

The truth was though that although Bilbo (just like any other Hobbit, thank you very much) loved having company and others in her smial with her, she also enjoyed her solitude. She loved to lose herself in her books for days at a time. To pour over her maps by the light of a candle and allow her Tookish side to take her mind leagues from the Shire. But then she also enjoyed allowing her Baggins' side free reign on occasion. Cooking up a storm in her kitchen and acting the lady of the house when called for.

But mostly she enjoyed the long rambling walks she could take, after all she did not have to worry about rushing home to take care of a husband or children. She could be gone for days with just herself, her bag and her stick for company. But – she would tell herself firmly – these walks and expeditions were in no way, shape or form adventures. No. Because Baggins' did not go adventuring. A Took or two was known to have done but she was a Baggins. A strange one yes but she was not quite willing to pass that line into eccentricity entirely.

Not yet anyway.

Things changed on the day that she returned from one such ramble. She had made it as far as Bree and had even spent a night in the Prancing Pony but the Men who were so much taller than her always made her a little nervous so she had come home earlier than she had planned. She had been glad of her decision though as unusually heavy rain in the hills – for the time of year – had caused the river to swell and she had made the last ferry across the Brandywine.

She trekked home, thankful for her fine luck and was on the last leg of her journey when she decided to push on through the day and night to make it to Bag End and not have to spend another night under the stars.

A lightness filled her when the bridge over the swollen Bywater came into view the light of the moon casting a silver glow over the land….

Bilbo eyed the large puddles that had formed round the base of the bridge that lay between her and Hobbiton with a crinkled nose and sigh. There was no way around it. She was going to get her feet very wet if she wanted to get home and even from where she was standing several yards away from the bank she could feel the mud oozing between her toes and the ground squelched every time she moved.

She scanned the sodden bank of the Bywater to see just how far up the water had come and her expression remained the same when she saw that at least three feet had been added to the edge.

What was that?

Bilbo narrowed her eyes and peered at something that looked like sack snagged in the weeds, the usually still pool had a current running through it and she wondered if it had come from further up river. After all if any of the Hobbits had been caught throwing anything into the water the Thain would not have held back in punishing them. You did not pollute the land!

She thought of one of the more barbaric practises that she knew some Men farmers practised when too many young were born to a dog or a cat.

She had dropped her bag and her feet were moving before she was conscious of even making up her mind, squelching and skidding from the path to the edge of the water. She stopped. Like most Hobbits Bilbo could not swim. She gulped and glared at the lapping water as though it was going to rise up and drown her all by itself.

She eyed up the distance between herself and the sack.

She should leave it.

But what if there were kitten or puppies inside of it?

The very thought of their little lungs filling with water decided her and she rushed back to her bag for her abandoned stick and returned to the water.

The stick was quite a bit taller than herself and had a curve at the top. It was thick and hefty for leaning on and would not break easily.

She tried to lean over and reach out with the stick but still came up several inches short.

Bilbo didn't think twice about laying fat on her stomach and dragging herself as close to the water as she could get. Her elbows sank into the mud and her skirt became sodden and weighed down with the dirty water but she ignored the discomfort and focused on her goal.

The change in angle gave her a better view of the sack.

A completely different view.

She gasped.

It was a…person?

It was. She could make out a head and the almost weed like tendrils of hair drifting in the water.

"Oh dear, oh dear," she panicked, dragging herself recklessly closer and stretching out with the stick.

She could make out an arm. They looked slight. Maybe a child. She could manage the weight of a child and there wasn't the time to go to one of the houses across the bridge for help.

She hooked the curve of the stick around the child's arm and tugged. The sudden movement released the body from the confines of the weeds and roots and the sudden weight of the body had Bilbo digging her elbows and toes into the mud trying to stop herself from being dragged in.

The arm began to slip, working free of the stick. Sending out an apology for the pain this was going to bring the child – if it was alive – she moved the stick quickly to the child's arm pit, snagging it and wasting no time in dragging the stick up.

Hand over hand she worked the body closer until it was close enough for her to grip its soaked and slimy shirt with her hands.

She worked her way onto her knees, sobbing with the strain, and braced herself. She pulled the surprisingly heavy body to her. With one last burst of strength she succeeded. Her legs slid, and finally she had the child in her arms sprawled across her but free of the water.

She held the body tightly, sobbing and gasping, shaking like a leaf.

"It's alright," she spoke to the body, patting its back as she tried to control herself and get together enough energy to roll the body from on top of her.

She didn't.

But she did manage to slide herself from under it with some effort and then, standing on trembling legs, she pushed against its right shoulder and with some effort turned the body onto its back. Immediately she lowered her ear to its mouth and then its chest. She sobbed with the relief. The chest had moved.

"You're alive," she sobbed, straightening up and for the first time looking at the face of the-

She gasped.

It wasn't a child.

It was an elf.

The light of the moon showed her the delicately pointed ears clearly showing through the dirty hair plastered to his (yes, definitely male, her mind assured her) head. How could she have thought he was a child? He was at least several feet higher than her if not twice as high.

Mud covered him from head to toes as did chunks of weeds and things she was sure she did not want to identify. She had no doubt that she looked the same. Her skirt was plastered to her legs and she could feel the grit and the mud on her skin every time she moved.

"What am I going to do?"

* * *

Bilbo sighed wearily and rubbed at her eyes. The mud on her clothes had now dried and was making moving a restricted task. The late morning sun was shining through the round window of the sitting room.

It had been a long night.

Trying to carry the elf back to Bag End alone would have been impossible and she hadn't even attempted it. Instead she had dragged her quilt from her pack and put it over the prone figure and used the pack as a make-do surface to lift the elf's head from the wet ground. She then rushed over the bridge, no longer caring about the puddles she had to splash through and went straight to the house of the nearest person Hobbiton had to a doctor – after all Hobbits were a hardy bunch who didn't need medical aid all that often.

He along with his son had helped her in getting the elf to Bag End where she had to make a passable bed in front of the fire, dragging all the spare bedding and quilts from the linen cupboard and stripping two of the beds in the guest rooms.

She racked her brains in trying to find a suitable alternative but next to commissioning a Man sized bed the mattress of quilts, pillows and linen in front of the fire would have to do for the time being. The doctor had told her that he was more than willing to have the Elf stay at his house but Bilbo knew that there would not be enough room and the doctor was a busy man as he looked after the local animals when he was not called upon to care for the Hobbit population.

The doctor had diagnosed the elf after he had helped her in washing and changing her guest into clean dry clothes. The blush that had come to her cheeks had scorched her to the bone. It had been no surprise to Bilbo that the elf was deep in a fever and he had supplied her with the needed teas and herbs along with the instructions. She was glad to find out that there was nothing but bruising to his arm from when her stick had dug into his skin.

So now she was alone with a very sick stranger.

Well, she would be no good to the poor thing if she herself became sick, she thought practically.

Bilbo dashed to her room and stripped off her clothes and made quick work of scrubbing the mud from her body and hair. Changed into clean smelling, dirt and grit free clothing she felt rejuvenated despite the lack of sleep and was ready to care of her sick elf.

Once she had got him all tidied up and cleaned of the rest of the mud and weeds she found herself staring at him.

She remembered her mother's stories about Rivendell and Lord Elrond and his children. How it was possible for a male elf to be described as beautiful. Bilbo had a good imagination but even she had found it difficult to imagine any kind of male in anything other than terms of handsome. Beautiful was a term kept for women and babies.

But now she could see what her mother had meant.

Long blonde hair, so pale it was almost white in places, fell straight around his face, brushing the tops of his shoulders. It was strange seeing such hair on a man. Hobbit men usually kept their hair short, or, if they were feeling daring had it cropped just below the earlobe.

His skin was flushed with sickness but she had no doubt that when he was healthy it would be a paleness to complement his hair.

His face was slim and finely boned with clear cheek bones.

He was beautiful.

* * *

It took over a week for the fever to break and hours of delirium – not to mention the countless loads of sweat soaked linen Bilbo had to wash - as the fever oozed out of her guest in salty rivers, tossing and turning on her sitting room floor (which she had made as comfortable as any bed – even if she did say so herself) he would twist the quilts about him as he tossed to and fro.

Thankfully the doctor still came by twice a day and while he was there she had him take care of the patients more…intimate care.

Bilbo had also sent word to the runners that should anyone be seeking an Elf of her guest's description they could contact her. But until any family could be found she felt responsible for this sick soul who had been found so far from where any of his people travel.

She felt weak with a relief that she had not felt since she had first pulled him from the Bywater when his eyes – that thus far had held the hazy, unfocused gaze of sickness on the rare occasions that they were open at all – opened and for the first time focused on her face.

He looked at her in confusion and frowned when she felt his forehead. It was dry and sweat free for the first time in days.

She smiled at his broadly.

"Hello there,"

* * *

It took some days for Legolas – Bilbo had found out his name during one of his wakeful periods – to work up to staying awake for more than a few minutes at a time. During his fever Bilbo had only managed to get _just_ enough food into him so he was weaker than he could have been but her main concern had been getting water down his throat.

By the fourth day he was sitting up and Bilbo had managed to pile together a bunch of pillows to make a comfortable support for his back.

She sat beside him with her legs folded under her spooning stew into his mouth. He had been on a weak broth since he had woken and she was glad to finally see him managing something a little more substantial.

She smiled at him when she could see the bottom of the bowl and felt like cheering at the accomplishment. She had purposefully picked one of her smaller bowl, true, but it did not take away from the fact that he had just eaten something that was as close to a proper meal as he could manage.

"You will be up and about in no time at all," she told him cheerfully as she shifted her legs from beneath her, allowing the blood to flow properly before she tried to stand.

"My thanks, Miss Baggins," Legolas nodded his head and smiled faintly at her.

"Oh, none of that Miss Baggins rubbish," she chided him as she stood, "My name is Bilbo you have my leave to use it,"

"My thanks, Bilbo,"

* * *

After a week of her patient-guest being awake and able to sit up he was quickly regaining his strength and she felt as though there had never been a time when he was not in her house.

It had taken a few days to get used to Legolas actually being awake and able to talk to her, she had gotten that used to him making no noise other than his fevered groans and shouts – something about spiders had come up more often than anything else so she had made sure to keep an eye out for the eight legged beasties and throw them outside before Legolas saw them – that the fact that he was suddenly able to string together sentences came as a bit of a surprise

Not that all the discomfort was only on her side.

She knew that it must have been difficult for Legolas too as he got to know her more. In fact she was sure it was more so for him as he was almost helpless in her home, ill and at her mercy.

But eventually they got to know each other well enough to talk freely without the awkward stilted silence punctuating the air every few words.

In fact it was not rare to hear laughter filling the sitting room of Bag End as Biblo told tales of her childhood or dredged up memories of her cousins and what they had gotten up to in their youth.

Legolas did not speak much of his home or his family and Bilbo did not want to appear rude by pressing him or perhaps bring up things better left alone when he was still recovering.

But what she did know she kept stored at the back of her mind ready for any more information the Elf might let slip. She knew that his mother was 'gone' whither this meant that she had died – it was so hard to imagine an Elf dying, they seemed to be eternal, but then she supposed time would demand payment from all eventually – or she had sailed from the Grey Havens she didn't know. Bilbo did not know much of such matters only that both possibilities meant that Legolas would not see her again. She also knew that though his mother was no longer in his life - a fact that made her want to hold him tight and never let go (even if he could be more than a hundred times her own age – his father was.

And that was the extent of her information.

And that was as much information as she would have because she would not ask anymore of him.

* * *

The loud thumping at the door, at what Bilbo guessed to be several hours before dawn – a very unHobbit time to be calling on anyone (unless of course you had just dragged a half-dead Elf from the Bywater and needed help getting him home – but the chance of that happening twice in one month was laughable to Bilbo) – woke her so suddenly that her heart was beating in her throat.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Panicking she leapt from the bed before her mind even had the opportunity to know what she was doing. The blood rushing to her head forced her to stand still for a moment or fall over and it gave her a moment to see that it was still dark outside and that whoever was at her door seemed to be set on banging it down.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

She felt in the dark with shaking fingers for her candle and once found and after several tries she had it lit in her hand. The light flared in the darkness and she winced.

"Bilbo," the tired voice drifted to her from the sitting room and she quickly threw a dressing gown over her night clothes and dashed to what for all intents and purposes was Legolas' bedroom once the sun had gone down.

"Legolas, are you alright?" she dashed to his side when she saw him struggling with the quilts and trying to rise. He was doing a lot better but despite the fever breaking and the strength he was regaining he was still weak and his temperature was still higher than she would have liked.

"Of course,"

"What are you doing? You stay in that bed," she snapped, trying her best to put the blanket back over him.

He was having none of it though.

"I will come with you," he told her, his tone telling her he would not welcome an argument, "they-" he jerked his head in the direction of the door "do not sound very friendly,"

As if in agreement with his words more thuds and bangs came from door and she was sure one of them sounded like a boot connecting with the wood. If they had left a mark on her door they could jolly well repaint it.

"Stay Legolas," she told him firmly.

He opened his mouth to speak but she stopped him. He was her guest and she liked to think that they had become friends during the time that he was awake and she would not have him endanger his health.

"No, if there is something wrong I will call,"

Bang.

Bang.

She stood before he had the chance to argue and marched to the door mumbling under her breath the whole time.

"Someone had better be dying. Rude! That's what this is. Waking up decent folk at this hour,"

She opened the door the tiniest crack, holding her candle high and before she could even squeal with the shock of it the door was knocked from her hand. She jumped back to stop it colliding with her and then regretted her actions as it gave whoever it was a clean entry.

A tall figure stood in the darkness but they had not yet entered her home.

"Where is he?" the figure demanded

Huh?

Bilbo's poor befuddled mind struggled to keep up and she fought to stop the hand holding the candle from trembling like a leaf.

"Where's my son?"

Son?

"My son, Legolas," snarled the figure.

Legolas? Son? This snapping, growling shadow was Legolas' father?

"I do not know what you wished to gain by kidnapping him,"

Kidnapping?

"Now you just wait one minute," Bilbo had finally found her voice and was determined to set this stranger straight.

How dare he come to her house and…and terrorise her in this way. She was having none of it.

"Father!" Legolas' voice – the sharpest she had ever heard it, sounded from behind her and she turned slightly to see him standing slightly hunched in her hallway, gripping onto the wooden surrounding of the sitting room entry way with one hand and holding a candle with the other.

The stranger brushed past her and glided towards Legolas.

She heard the mumbling of more voices in the darkness of her garden. She tried peering into the gloom but it didn't matter how hard she tried she couldn't make out anything thanks to the heavy cloud cover that had blanketed Hobbiton for most of the day.

Wonderful, there were more of them.

She returned her gaze to Legolas and saw him wrapped in his father's arms, both of them hunched comically so as not to bang their heads on her ceiling.

They drew apart.

"This creature," the father sneered glancing over his shoulder at her, "will be punished,"

"Creature!" she snapped, the sting of the insult making her brave for a moment.

And just what did he mean by punishment? She hadn't done anything.

"No father,"

"Who do you think you are?" the stranger rounded on her and for the first time she got a clear look at him.

Yes, he was definitely Legolas' father.

"Father enough!"

Legolas was grasping at his father's arm trying to pull him away.

"Bilbo helped me,"

This seemed to stop the Elf in his tracks and he blinked several times before he drew back from her.

"How so?"

"Bilbo found me and has cared for me since,"

Bilbo gulped. If his father wanted to hurt her – she was sure she had spied a blade hidden behind the gathered fabric of his cloak – there would be nothing Legolas could do to stop it.

"I owe you an apology, Mistress," the Elf bowed slightly at his waist.

"I am Thranduil, I regret that I have not made the best impression,"

She nodded her head but did not go any nearer to him.

"Baggins, Bilbo Baggins, at your service,"

She felt a draft at her back and turned her head just enough to catch the approach of the other figures moving into the door frame from the garden.

"Your Highness-"

Everything after that became a little mumbled.

She turned her gaze firmly to Legolas who met her eyes with an embarrassed flush.

Obviously he had neglected to tell her something very important.

* * *

Royalty or not Bilbo was not at all certain of her newest…guest? If you could call someone who had all but burst into your home and threatened you with bodily harm a guest. In fact for the first several days of his presence in her home she never let him out of her sight when they were in the same room.

It was clear to see where Legolas had got his looks from but there was something feline in Thranduil's movements. Something that for those first few days had Bilbo on edge until she was sure he would not sprout a tale, claws and teeth and tear into her if she sneezed wrong.

But, just as Legolas had, his father quickly became a habit and once she had grown less leery of him she found that she enjoyed the other Elf's company. And she noticed the change in Legolas now that he obviously wasn't trying to hide who he was – something that she had given him a sound talking to about.

Having another tall person in her home had been problematic when it came to making up another suitable 'bed' and she had to strip the one remaining guest bed and even take some old curtains outs of storage to produce an adequate mattress.

Both Elves were now set up in her sitting room when it came to sleeping and although Legolas' was still too weak for his bedding to be packed away daily Thranduil's was lifted from it place beside his son and replaced at night.

Bilbo was finding that she enjoyed the company of two Elves even more than the company of just one and at night once supper had been served she would sit in her father's arms chair with Legolas propped up facing her and Thranduil sitting on a large chair she had found in one of the storage rooms, his bedding draped across the hard wood.

The made a very domestic scene on an evening she supposed and she did as little talking as she could manage as she tried to tease tales from Thranduil and get him to tell her about far away places and people.

Hobbits as a rule did not like to think about the 'outside'. Middle Earth was filled with bizarre creatures that – as long as they left the Shire be – Hobbits in general were more than happy to pretend didn't exist.

But not Bilbo. She relished the idea of people, places, sights, sounds and smells she had never seen. And, if she was being perfectly honest with herself, she never would.

Thranduil humoured her with a smile and a regal nod of his head – the very kind she could imagine him giving to a crowded throne room. Did he even have a throne?

Her focus would remain fixed on him as he weaved images of times past and places far away.

It sounded wonderful.

* * *

Just as Bilbo thought she could live content like this for the rest of her days, just her and the two Elves (and of course the four royal guards who had tagged along who popped in occasionally – thankfully they had come up with their own sleeping arrangement) but like she knew it would have to it came to an end.

Legolas was well enough to travel, in other words he could sit on a horse without toppling off. And she knew it was ridiculous to expect them to continue sleeping on her sitting room floor – even if it was far comfier than a regular mattress in her opinion – and then there was the little fact that Thranduil was a king and had bigger things to worry about than telling stories to a little no-body-Hobbit.

So it was with a heavy heart that Bilbo waved them goodbye and she only just managed to stop the tears from falling when Legolas had held her close in his arm in one of the best hugs she had received since her mother had died.

"I will miss you Bilbo," Legolas murmured into her ear, pressing a kiss to her cheek before pulling away.

"You will come and visit us though?"

The hopeful, childish tone to his voice had her nodding her head although she knew it was a lie. Dreaming and imagining faraway places was one thing but she was nowhere near brave enough to actually go.

"Wonderful, it is only fair that I get to wait on you hand and foot for a little while," Legolas chuckled and she joined in with a giggle.

She did not begrudge a moment spent looking after him during his illness or in his company since.

"Indeed, we will keep a room in constant readiness for your arrival," Thranduil added, smiling broadly at her, "And should you ever be in need, I will always be at your disposal, Lady Hobbit,"

Bilbo was becoming very flustered with all of the attention and flushed when Thranduil bent low over her hand a pressed a soft kiss to the back.

"Elf-friend," he whispered into her skin, glancing up at her, his eye twinkling in the light.

And then they were gone.

Just as quickly as they had come into her life they had left it.

Where she had previously found that she enjoyed her solitude now she found the silence deafening and when she went back to her books and maps - that she had sorely neglected the past few months - she found them lacking. Thranduil had been a fount of knowledge on such things and his voice had sent her into a dreamlike state more than once as she had listened to him and painted the pictures in her mind. Her books could no longer do that for her...

* * *

It would be a year before adventure would come walking up to her gate in the form of an old man…

* * *

**I started writing this as an answer to a prompt that I stumbled across on the Hobbit Kink Meme. **

**What if Bilbo knew Thranduil and Legola before the quest? - was the basic idea. :)**

**I really hope you enjoyed that. **

**Hopefully more to come.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I do not own anything :(**

**Chapter 2**

Thranduil fought to remain calm, his son had been missing for weeks, far too long in his estimation. It was not unknown for Legolas to go off 'wondering' for some time, he enjoyed travelling the greenwood and accompanying the Rangers on their journeys. But this was different. The growing darkness falling across his Kingdom had led to Thranduil issuing specific directions to his people. He did not like doing such a thing – if his people wished to leave for some time it was none of his affair – but an absence caused by a death needed to be known. If they planned to leave then the scribe trusted with the task needed to be informed. The long life spans of his peoples tended to make then see things far more calmly than many others but the darkness had set even his nerves on edge and so the new census was to set his own mind at ease as well as the minds of those who came running to the guard in a panic when they had not seen a costumer for the past three days when they came to the store every day.

Legolas knew this and had informed him of his planned trip – just a round of the Greenwood, father – but he should have returned weeks ago.

Thranduil rose from his throne and barked at the guard by the door to fetch for the captain of the guard and his advisors. It was time he put being a father above being a king.

* * *

It took three days of bickering between his advisors and captain of the guard before he was able to leave his halls accompanied by four guards – too many he had argued would attract too much attention.

On the second day the search parties he had sent out returned empty handed. There was no sign of his son, in fact there was no sign of him even being in the Woods.

That made up his mind once and for all and by the time he was setting out with his guards he had one destination in mind.

"We make for _Imladris,"_

* * *

His guards were uncomfortable in the Hidden Valley, and Thranduil himself was not happy in this place either. They were so used to being surrounded by the countless trees and throbbing roots that being so open was unsettling to all of them. Of course being surrounded by their brethren who had become known as High Elves was not helping matters. Already he had to have harsh words with his guards. They were guest and it was not there place to cause scenes. The horses needed rest and the stop was necessary.

Lord Elrond was hospitable and welcoming – making Thranduil feel slightly guilty for his dark thoughts against the Rivendell elves – and had happily told him that Legolas had passed through some time before seeking Mithrandir. A weakness had passed through him as soon as Elrond told him this, a weakness born from relief.

Everything in his had baulked at the idea of needing any assistance but he would swallow his pride countless times if it led to him finding his son.

He was ready to set out the very same hour of his arrival in the Hidden Valley but practicality and necessity forced his hand.

His guards were happy to train with the hunting parties, pitting their skills against the High Elves in the training ring. He had joined in with training a few times and had enjoyed giving himself over to the smooth movements of swinging his sword. Years of ruling the Greenwood had not dulled his skill – the consequence of living in a troubled kingdom – and he quickly found more enjoyment in watching the training than in joining in. The Rivendell elves were terribly clean in their fighting skills while his men were…less so. He couldn't keep the smirk from his face as time after time Elrond's men were left at the sharp end of a blade and flat on their backs.

The library was where he spent the majority of his time though and when he was certain that no one would interrupt him for a while he would seek out any writings that might touch on the sickness that was seeping into his land. The Elvish tomes revealed nothing.

* * *

They galloped away from Rivendell and after a week spent in the Hidden Valley it couldn't have come sooner.

Two days before this his time in the library had been interrupted by a messenger from Elrond summoning him to his study as he had news for him.

A Ranger had been waiting with Elrond and told him of his son's presence in a place called Hobbiton, the Shire. The Ranger had taken it upon himself to seek out the Elves rather than to wait for a chance meeting. And Thranduil was glad of this. If he had to wait for word to drift to him through countless travellers he didn't want to think how long it would have taken for the word to reach him.

Plans were quickly made and he left Rivendell as soon as it was possible, galloping towards this Shire and a home called Bag End.

The Ranger had not been able to tell him much other than that the Hobbits were a peaceful people who lived an almost idyllic life.

Thranduil thought back over his years of travelling before he had settled in the Greenwood and at no time could he remember encountering a people called 'Hobbits' or a place called the Shire. But then his travelling days had been a long time ago. Both the Ranger and Elrond had referred to the Hobbits as 'Shirelings' and 'Halflings' during the conversation – a family or two was known to Elrond – but this still shed no light on who the Hobbits were.

Elrond had just assured him that Hobbits were not in the habit of kidnapping and holding for ransom elven princes. He had said this with a glint in his eye and a smile tugging at his lips and Thranduil knew that he was being laughed at for his worry.

It was alright for Elrond, he growled inwardly and clutching the reins tighter, living in a protected valley and surrounded by his children.

He would kill this Hobbit if he found that Legolas had been hurt and then he would kill his son for worrying him so but only after he found why he was looking for that thrice cursed wizard.

* * *

It took over two weeks of riding for Thranduil and his guards to reach the Shire and it was indeed a peaceful and tranquil place. Rolling hills and grassy fields spread out for miles and the Hobbits – a strange folk indeed with their bare, furry feet – lived in the strangest houses he had ever seen, actually burrowing out homes in the side of hills. Like rabbits, his mind provided. And yet there were doors and windows and little fenced off gardens.

They seemed docile enough, working in their fields and gardens but Thranduil knew that farming tools could as easily rip open a man's skull as they could plough a field.

The Hobbits would look up from their tasks and look at them with suspicion before mumbling to one another, glancing back at them and then going back to work, their pipe or their drink.

It took until nightfall (and asking several passing Hobbits) to find the right 'house' and he didn't even pause to think before he slid from his horse, threw the reins to the first guard to dismount and stalked to the door.

Leaning down to reach the door he slammed his fist against the wood. The bubbling anger and months of worry made his actions more violent that he ever would have considered.

He waited.

Nothing.

He pounded on the door once again, punctuating it with a solid kick from his boot clad foot.

The door finally cracked open.

His temper snapping he pushed it open.

* * *

Thranduil had no idea what to make of this strange little creature who introduced herself so prettily while obviously trying not to cower from him.

After the diabolical actions that had been his initial introduction to her she had every right to throw him from her home and he flushed at the very thought that he could have harmed her with his actions had his son not stepped forward.

He quickly looked over to Legolas to find him sagging against the wall, his cheeks flushed and shining with sweat.

The flush of illness quickly changed to one of discomfiture when one of the guards tried to get Thranduil's attention from the doorway and the Hobbit's eyes fixed on his son.

"Your Highness?" she squeaked.

* * *

Thranduil found that what he enjoyed most about his time in the Shire was the pure domesticity of it. During the day Bilbo would potter about her home in her 'working dress' with a crisp white apron over it. She would be everywhere at once, moving swiftly on her silent feet. Sometimes in the kitchen, but then in the garden and then checking Legolas' temperature and tucking the covers tighter around him if needed or offering his still slightly fevered son a drink of water if he could manage it that day. He had a feeling that Legolas was enjoying being mothered by the fussy little creature.

While his son was relishing in his treatment Thranduil tried to make himself as useful as possible, he was a king but he had not reached his advanced age without picking up more than a few useful skills that could be put to use in a home such as Bag End. So it was with a light heart that he shed his kingly demeanour and became what he had heard the humans call a 'Jack of all trades' for the little Hobbit who had welcomed his son into her home and had forgiven him so readily for his unforgivable behaviour. He had threatened her in her own home, forced his way in and yet she forgave him with a shrug and a trembling smile while going off to make tea.

"You really don't need to," Bilbo had fussed, screwing her once wrinkle free apron viciously in her hands, twisting the fabric nervously when – once armed with various tools that had been found in one of the many storage rooms of Bag End – he began to measure up one of her windows that was allowing in a slight draft. It was a fine day and perfect for doing such work.

"Mistress Baggins –" she looked at him pointedly, "Bilbo," he amended, "Allow me to be of use. It is the least I can do for the kindness you have shown to us,"

And she had been kind. There was nothing about her actions that made him feel unwelcome and he had a feeling his son would be happy to stay here for the rest of his days. Even his guards were enjoying their stay. Although he made sure that they stayed away during the day – or as far away as any of them would go (apparently the captain of the guard had issued some death threats before they had left) – Bilbo insisted on them all having dinner together whenever the guards loitered at the right time.

She had stuttered and blushed so prettily at his remark and he had been unable to prevent the smile from coming to his lips as she fled back to the smial mumbling something about checking on Legolas. He did not mention that she had only just settled his son with a bowl of soup several minutes before. Instead he grinned like a fool and set to work on the window pane.

He had not told the Hobbit that his son was her own age many times over. He didn't think it would matter to Bilbo much anyway.

And then there were the few trips he had made to the market with her. She had told them – he and his guards – that Hobbits were nervous of 'big folk' (anyone who was more than a few inches taller than they were seemed to be classed as one of the 'big folk') and so he wasn't to be offended if he was given a wide berth.

Bilbo had not been happy with him going with her. It wasn't a guest's job to get the shopping, she had told him time and time again, one hand on her hip and the other gripping the handle of the basket. But he always insisted on accompanying his little hostess on her weekly excursion and would only smile at her show of anger while dropping her 'outside shawl' over her shoulders. And every week she would shake her head and walk out the door, him close on her heels. Bilbo Baggins – Thranduil thought to himself more than once – looked quite fetching when she was annoyed.

Despite the wariness the Hobbits showed towards him they seemed to view him as something exotic, eyes as wide as one of Bilbo's saucers would be fixed on him as he strolled through the market, the tallest being there – other than his guards who were hovering discreetly behind (as discreetly as they could anyway) - as he followed his hostess from stall to stall.

But it was the nights in Bag End he enjoyed the most, once his guards had reluctantly left for the evening (the traitors would stay for as long as they could before he growled at them to make themselves scarce), and it was just he, Legolas, Bilbo and the fire place in her sitting room.

The fire blazing as the night darkened outside all three of them sipping at their mugs of tea as they spoke of anything. But mostly they spoke of the world.

Bilbo, he had discovered, was not well travelled and the furthest she had been from her own doorstep had been to the town of Bree and even then her visits had never been long. So, it shouldn't have surprised him he supposed when with eyes shining with curiosity she asked for stories of the world. For tales about places that she had only seen in her books and maps – of which she had an impressive collection. The little Hobbit had a thirst for adventure and when he had told her so she had only laughed and told him Baggins' did not have adventures, that was left to the more wilder cousins on the family tree – the Tooks and the Brandybucks.

He was more than happy to oblige her, telling her stories for hours on end and even Legolas would join in if he spoke of places his son too had visited.

Then came the questions about the Greenwood, now called Mirkwood by the woodsmen – and he was more than aware that it was earning its name daily. Something dark and evil was falling across his kingdom, soaking into the soil and polluting it from the inside out. Something that had not spread further – Rivendell had been a welcome relief from the oppression. He had learned during his time at Bag End that it was the sickness that had caused Legolas to take off in such a reckless manner. Off in search of Gandalf the Grey. Thranduil scoffed inwardly at the very notion. He did not share his son's confidence in the wizard and the idea that one of them could possibly be of assistance was an alien and distasteful concept – bad enough to seek out Elrond's help.

So he weaved tales of what had once been, before the fall of Erebor, before the dragon's shadow had fallen over them. Before the darkness had settled upon the trees. And he watched her eyes glow as he painted images as well as he could with his words. Wishing for her to see them as clearly as if she was standing in his halls.

His mind had taken a different path at that thought. Imagining her in his home, decked out in the soft finery of his people, her hair held back from her face by delicate circlet of silver blossoms, leaving her small pointed ears free to be seen. Her face flushed with happiness and smiling contently at him. Wrapped in his arms -

He had slammed an end to those thoughts. But they had risen without conscious effort from him and he knew he was in trouble.

These were not the purely physical thoughts he had been guilty of having almost from the first evening spent under her roof. Bilbo Baggins, for all her claim at middle-age, was a fine, attractive female after all. Nothing at all like an elf women with a tall willowy figure. No, Bilbo Baggins was all curves and gentle slopes – in the way of Hobbits – with a ready smile and pink glowing cheeks. And he was only a man, so who was to blame him if during the dark of the night his thoughts would wonder as he drifted to sleep and his dreams were filled with soft beds and an even softer Hobbit with curly corn coloured hair. And he did feel ever so guilty about his lustful thoughts about the woman who had taken care of his son and smiled so warmly and trustfully over the breakfast table. These new thoughts had nothing to do with lust even though a few may have featured a bed and the image of waking up to find her in his were just …intimate. Bilbo in his home. Cuddling, kissing, laughing together, and smiling at each other…

But there was nothing that he could do about these new thoughts even as they got worse as he got to know Bilbo more and she seemed to burrow under his skin, digging deeper with each passing day until before he knew it she had taken up lodgings in his heart without his permission. She had made herself a little Hobbit Hole just big enough for her in his heart.

Thranduil was a king of a breaking kingdom though and all too soon – even before Legolas was fully recovered – he had to leave Bag End and its mistress behind and return to his responsibilities.

* * *

**(roughly one year later)**

Thranduil was brooding. He knew he was. He did not need to have to overhear his guards complaining about his tyrannical moods to know it. And really, 'tyrannical' was going just a little too far in his opinion. If he was truly a tyrant he would have sent half the guard to retrieve a pesky little Shireling months ago. So, as he hadn't, that just went to prove that he was not a tyrant – in his eyes at least.

He was a king, he should be above such things as…as…there wasn't even a term he could think of. Kings just did not brood over women.

An image of a straw haired, blue eyed, smiling Hobbit, curled up in an armchair with the firelight dancing across her face, her eyes twinkling in wonder as he spoke played through his mind, calming his ruffled temper as much as it set his heart racing.

He slammed an end to those thoughts. Well, he tried to anyway. A very valiant effort he thought.

He had a right to be aggravated.

It had been a year since he and Legolas had left the Shire and the big hearted, little Hobbit lady there in. And he – they, he corrected himself – had not received one word from the mistress of Bag End in all that time. It was rankling.

He sighed heavily and stood in one fluid movement. He stalked from the throne room, ignoring the semi-curious glances some of his braver guards were throwing him as he strode through the doors and down the hall. The handful who had accompanied him to retrieve Legolas had made quick work of telling their fellows of the strange little being who had offered their prince shelter and he doubted that there was not one elf in his kingdom that didn't know of the Shire and Bilbo Baggins.

He moved swiftly down hallways and through tree root moulded corridors.

He had made it clear to Bilbo that she would be more than welcome had he not? And even if he had not succeeded and for some reason Bilbo had only thought that he was being polite (something that his advisors were constantly telling him he needed to perfect) surely Legolas' words would have made it a certainty. The boy had grown close to Bilbo during his time alone with her (so much so that Thranduil was sure his son was jealous of the time she had spent away from him once he had arrived) and Thranduil was certain his son was missing her more than he was letting on. Indeed with every sunrise Thranduil half expected to learn that his son had once again vanished, this time to go in search of a Hobbit.

He reached his destination and pushed open an ornate oak door, covered in finely carved patterns and scenes depicting the seasons. It fell open noiselessly and he stepped in.

As promised a room had been prepared and was kept constantly ready in the eventuality of a visit from Bilbo.

On his orders the room was aired daily so as not to grow stale.

Everything was light and airy within this room and that was why he had chosen it. After all, for all that she lived in a hill there had been nothing dark about Bag End.

It was not the largest room available nor the most splendid but it was the room that he had decided would suit her the best, and when Legolas agreed with him the matter was settled.

Fine silken sheets covered a heavy wooden framed bed and a glittering canopy of fine lace hung high above it gathering at the head bored and pooling about the sides. Gossamer curtain fluttered in the light freeze coming through the opened window. Everything was of the finest material that could be found and, of course, in a heavy chest at the foot of the bed was some of the rougher fabrics and thicker blankets that were found in abundance in the Shire – to appeal to her Hobbit-i-ness (they had been Legolas' idea and Thranduil would admit it was a fine one and would hopefully make Bilbo more comfortable).

But what was the point of it all if she were not to visit. It would only take a letter – his son was acquainted with more than a few Rangers and woodsmen and a message would reach him fairly quickly through those channels if it was addressed to Legolas – and he would send someone to fetch her or meet her part way. But nothing had been heard.

"Father," Legolas calling for him dragged him from his morose thoughts and with one last quick glance about the room he left it, stepping into the hall just as Legolas reached the door.

Judging from his ruffled appearance and web speckled armour it seemed that he had just returned from a patrol.

A more permanent solution needed to be found to deal with the spiders.

"Dwarves father, " his son spoke without even a word of greeting, his expression stern.

Thranduil did not reply immediately.

Dwarves?

There was only one possible reason for them to be in his domain and he did not think he liked the idea of it.

"Indeed," he spoke calmly, closing the door to the room and heading back to the throne room with Legolas beside him, "so they have decided to make a try for Erebor after all these years,"

The fools. A dragons love of gold knew no bounds and should the Dwarrow imbecilic wake the beast it would be the death of them all. It was true that Smaug had not been seen for over fifty years – Thranduil would rather it be over two hundred before anyone went near the cursed mountain – but dragons were known to lay dormant for hundreds of years, sleeping buried beneath their hoard before hunger drove them out.

"Thorin is among them," Legolas spoke harshly, his voice hard.

His son had never been a lover of those who lusted for gold after witnessing through the years how much death want of the precious metal had led to and then watching Thror's descent into Gold Sickness had settled his opinion. The old fool's overflowing treasury bringing Smaug to their very gates.

"So the king seeks to reclaim his mountain,"

"He will claim his grave before he claims the throne," Legolas scoffed, "even if he did succeed the men of Laketown would not just let them be,"

Thranduil nodded his head at this.

Many of the inhabitants were related to the Men of Dale and had been raised on stories of what once had been. They would all feel like they were owed compensation for the dragon's actions.

Thranduil chuckled as his mind wondered down the path of payment.

"I would not let them be,"

He thought of the long years that Thror had reigned in Erebor and the yearly tributes demanded as his sickness grew worse. Thranduil's reasoning at the time had been 'rather pay in tributes than pay in blood' as he had not been willing to risk war because of the actions of the monarch.

"They will set the dragon upon us all," Legolas snarled, "the beast's silence is no assurance of its death,"

Thranduil made no reply as there was nothing that he could say and paused at the doors to the throne room, raising his hand and shaking his head at the guards who moved to push the door open.

"Where are they?"

"I had them taken to the cells. There are thirteen in all – I thought they were too superstitious to tempt fate so – none of them are injured in anyway, just hungry and shaken after a run in with the spiders,"

Thranduil lowered his hand and nodded at the guards, giving them leave to open the doors now that he knew Thorin and his companions weren't on the other side.

"Have them brought up and food prepared and taken to the cells,"

"I will see to it, father,"

* * *

The interview went as well as could be expected. Even in chains and covered in webs Thorin managed to hold on to his arrogance.

Thranduil was no fool and he knew the princeling held a grudge against him for refusing to face Smaug when he had descended upon Erebor. Thranduil had not enjoyed turning his back on Erebor in her hour of need but he was not about to risk the lives of his people with such a mission. Not even his forces were a match for the dragon and Smaug would have been picking elf as well as dwarf from his teeth if Thranduil had led his people into battle. No, the day would have ended with the fall of more than one kingdom if he had done so. It was just like a thick headed Dwarf to take it personally and conveniently forget about the aid Thranduil had given, having food and medical aid ready for any who needed it.

He learned nothing from the Dwarves except for what he already knew – and he only learned that from them because they could not keep a hold of their tempers.

He sent them back to their cells to choke down the food provided for them.

* * *

Thranduil sighed heavily, slumped over the table, his elbows on the heavy oak and his head resting in his hands. The council chamber was empty except for Legolas who sat opposite him looking equally dejected.

He had conferred with his advisors and Lords nothing had been decided upon.

"There is nothing for it father," his son smiled tiredly, "they will just have to remain here indefinitely until they see reason,"

Thranduil chuckled at the so simple solution.

"From Thorin's perspective he is seeing reason. It is us who are holding him back from his destiny," he sighed, there was nothing worse than a self-righteous quest.

"It is obvious he believes Smaug to be dead, they are not prepared for him being alive, they-"

A fist banging against the door silenced Legolas.

"Enter," Thranduil bellowed.

A guard entered the chamber, his eyes averted and head bowed.

"Apologies Majesty, but there is someone to see you,"

Thranduil quirked a brow at this, what a day it was turning out to be for unexpected guests.

"My, but it doesn't rain it pours," he smiled at his son as they both left the table.

"Who?"

The guard gulped.

"A…a...Baggins Sire, Mistress Baggins,"

* * *

**Hi everyone!**

**I hope you are all well!**

**I am so sorry that this took so long to get up but believe it or not this is the 3****rd**** version of this chapter (I have been working on it regularly since before I posted the first chapter) – I was getting to the hair pulling out stage and the throw lap-top out of window stage and happily watch it smash to smithereens (who knew smithereens had two 'e's? I just found that out…OK. Back on track) **

**Still not 100% happy with it…:(**

**Anyway, feedback would be lovely :)**

**Take care. **

**PS. Thank you so so much for all of the wonderful comments, I am so glad that you are enjoying this story. I hope this doesn't let you down. The next chapter will be back with Bilbo :)**

**PPS. To the helpful person who pointed out that Bilbo is male - Thank you :)**


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